Fix You
by Theoretical-Optimist
Summary: Verity needs to help George deal with the loss of Fred. Written for Round 6 of THC (year three) WARNING: Category- Coping with Mental Illness


House: Gryffindor

Position: HoH

Category: Additional (Coping with Mental Illness)

Prompt: Emotion- Platonic Love

Word Count (excluding header, AN, and warning): 833

Betas: Tigger, Angel

AN: I wrote this while listening to Fix You by Coldplay. I realize this deviates from canon, but it seems plausible with the ages/ timeline leading up to the Battle of Hogwarts. Also, pravda is Russian/Czeck/Slovak for truth.

Warning: Deals with various forms of depression (including antenatal)

* * *

CRASH!

"Mr. Weasley?" Verity asked cautiously. She had finally gathered the emotional fortitude to approach her boss. He'd locked himself away in Weasley Wizard Wheezes' workshop and she needed to get through to him.

"GO AWAY!"

Although she was an extremely loyal and proper employee, she ignored the direct command from her boss. "Mr. Weasley, I'm coming in."

She slowly pushed open the door, expecting something to come hurling towards her. Slowly, she poked her head around the door, leaving the rest of her body protected by the spell-proof wood. Thankfully, there were no projectiles or errant curses.

"Mr. Weasley?" She peered around the workshop. Papers were strewn about. A mirror was smashed and glass shards were scattered on the floor. She searched for her boss. "George?"

"Go away, Verity," he mumbled.

She finally located the man, slumped over in a heap under a pile of destroyed pranks. "You need to get up now." She levitated the debris away from him. "I'm here to help you."

"You can't help me."

"That's not true," Verity said. "We need to just work together and—"

"—THERE IS NO WE! There's only me now. Look, I know you loved Fred but you don't have to pretend to care for me."

"Of course I love you, you idiot!"

George sat up and gave her a dubious look.

"How could I not love you? It's not the same as it was Fred. We were..." she trailed off.

"I know, Verity," George said as he stood. "I didn't miss the looks you guys exchanged before we all went into hiding. And it wasn't hard to figure out where he was going when he'd sneak away from the safe house. He always came back in smelling like perfume: pravda. I should have realized what was going on years ago when he insisted on that name. Pravda, truth, Verity."

"Fred was everything to me," Verity said. "So if there's anyone who can understand what you're feeling, it's me."

"That's what my family and friends say. But none of you can really understand. I can't look in the mirror anymore without seeing Fred staring back at me. He's always there, but just beyond my reach."

"Don't assume that I can't understand. Like you, I carry Fred with me every day," she said as she gently caressed her abdomen.

George stared down at her hand. "Are you?" he whispered.

"Pregnant? Three months along," she confirmed. "Fred never knew."

"He would have been so happy," George said, sadly.

"I know that. And sometimes, that's the only thing that gets me through the day. The Healers call it antenatal depression. Some days, it's all I can do to just get out of bed and keep going. Some days I'm on edge and jumping out of my own skin. Other days I feel like nothing's changed. I miss Fred so much, but I have to move forward for our child."

"How can you?" George asked.

"I don't really know," Verity replied. "But I know I have to try. We both have to try. I can't do this without you, George."

"Do you—" George began. "Should we—"

"What?" she asked.

"Should we get married or something? Fred would—"

Verity cut him off by letting out a loud laugh. She doubled over with guffaws and slapped at her knees.

"I'm serious!" George insisted. "Fred would want me to take care of you."

Verity managed to get her laughter under control. Wiping the tears away from her eyes, she replied, "I needed that laugh."

"Verity—" George tried again.

"I'm not going to marry you. I don't love you like that. What I felt for Fred won't just transfer to you because you happen to have the same face. It doesn't work like that."

"But you shouldn't be alone," George reasoned.

"I won't be alone. I need you George, but not in a romantic way. And I know you could never love me like that either; I've seen the way your head turns every time Angelina stops by."

George blushed and sputtered.

"Having a baby is hard. The emotional strain I've been under since losing Fred is immense. I'm battling every day against this depression that threatens to overwhelm me. I need you to help me and like you need me to help you." The tears that started to stream down Verity's cheeks were not from laughter this time.

"What can I do?" George asked.

"I need you to be here. I need you to stop locking yourself away in this workshop every day. I need you to re-engage with your family and friends. I need you to be there despite the fact that Fred isn't."

"I can try to do that," George promised.

"All any of us can do is try," Verity said. "Try to live each and every day in spite of the hell we are going through."

Verity dissolved into tears and George gathered her into his arms.

Today, they would cry together.

Tomorrow, they would try together.


End file.
